


my heart is a compass; your heart is my north (i'll always find my way back home)

by Lorrayne



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Smut, breakup fic kind of, but with a happy ending cause you know me, domestic lourry, theres a surprise in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorrayne/pseuds/Lorrayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the thing is, it still fucking hurts. the way they’d gone from bad to worse. the steady deterioration of something that used to be so strong. he can’t even remember what set it off, now. he just remembers how it ended. and it fucking hurts. </p>
<p>or </p>
<p>they're both still silly kids, and they both still fuck up because love's complicated</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart is a compass; your heart is my north (i'll always find my way back home)

**Author's Note:**

> bless kate for beta-ing. thank god for nyquil.  
> i was listening to the 1975 and "somebody who can watch you" came on and this happened.  
> i don't even know what the song's about tbh.

“shit,” louis gasps, hand pressed to his chest as he stumbles back into the wall.

“i’m sorry, i just-” harry’s right there, big eyes all concerned. louis wants to hate him sometimes.

there’s a shirt hanging from one of his hands. louis grits his teeth.

“i just came by to wash some stuff. grab the rest. i thought i’d be out by the time you got back, but…”

but.

“but i’m late. you’re early.”

louis still hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. maybe hasn’t taken a breath.

“i, uh. yeah. got off early,” he says, and ignores the hand harry has stretched out for him. he’s been trying not to need.

harry takes a step back and watches as louis stands and picks up the keys he’d dropped. louis locks the door and hangs his keys on the hook next to the empty one. he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the peg next to the empty one. he blinks too many times and bites down too hard on the inside of his lip.

“i’m just… i’ll finish folding these, and i’ll go.” harry sounds tired. louis feels tired. they both look it.

louis just nods.

he walks to his bedroom and flips on the light. it’s the same as it always is. as it has been for three weeks, anyway.

there’s less stuff on the dresser, and the whole room’s messier. the bed’s made.

on one side.

louis sinks down on to his side and loosens his tie. he takes a deep breath and unbuttons his shirt, shrugs it off, leaves it laying on the floor. kicks off his shoes, undoes his slacks. he drops those to the floor, too.

he sighs before he opens the closet.

it doesn’t brace him for the way it looks: like everything else. half empty where it should be full. where it was, this morning. he blinks too many times again and yanks a t-shirt off a hanger, slams the door shut.

he finds a pair of sweats that are black, white logo, too long. not his. they’re not really clean, but he pulls them on anyway. it’s pathetic. he walks back out into the hallway.

harry’s still there. still pulling clothes out of louis’s dryer and folding them, putting them in a basket that’s not louis’s. his is full of dirty ones, knocked over in his bathroom.

he’s sure harry saw that too.

he takes a deep breath, a quiet one, and pushes his fingers back through his hair. it’s crunchy from hairspray. harry’s always hated that. he catches himself scrubbing his hands through it to remove the residue, but he stops. he doesn’t need to do that anymore.

he pulls his fringe down, leaves the rest messy.

“i’ll help,” he says, soft. harry startles a bit, then sidesteps. louis fits himself in between harry and the wall. he’s always just fit.

he reaches in and pulls out a sweater that’s never fit. well, him anyway.

he folds it and leans over to put it in harry’s basket. he sees harry’s little smile. he sees the way he presses his lips together to hold it back, and looks back down at his clean jeans. louis stares a bit too long.

they fold clothes in a rhythmic silence for a while. their elbows bump every now and then, and the shock of impact echos through louis’s chest. there’s a metaphor in there somewhere for how empty he feels now.

harry’s phone buzzes a few times, but he only checks it once. louis wonders who it is. he wonders if there’s someone else in harry’s life yet. he wonders if he knows them. he doesn’t want to know.

by the time they’ve finished, it’s getting dark outside and louis’s hungry. he wonders if harry is. wonders if he’d say if he were.

as if on cue, his stomach grumbles. louis can’t help but huff out a little laugh. harry smiles too. he doesn’t hold this one back.

louis makes his decision without really thinking it through. it’s a dumb one. he might regret it later. he says, “i’m gonna make dinner. you can stay, ‘f you’re hungry.”

he doesn’t wait for harry’s answer. he can’t look rejection in the face for the second time and swallow it down like he did the first.

he walks around the corner, into his little kitchen. “cozy” harry always called it. it’s just small now.

his refrigerator isn’t quite as sad as the rest of his flat. zayn’s brought him groceries a time or two since. it’s not like louis’s moping, per say. but that’s just something he can’t bring himself to do alone quite yet.

he opens the fridge, then the freezer. there’s a noise behind him, and when he turns, harry’s there. he’s all leaned up against the doorway, glancing around, looking back at louis.

louis lets himself be relieved. he sticks his head back in the freezer and bites down on his lips.

“you’re cooking now?” harry asks, breaking the silence.

it honestly just sounds like curiosity. still, it takes a lot of patience to hold back the, “well, that or starve,” that’s on the tip of his tongue.

“nothing impressive,” he shrugs, rummaging through the disaster of a freezer. there’s a frozen lasagna there that he’d been thinking about earlier. he pulls it out.

“there’s this…” and when he looks over, harry’s got that look on his face like he’s not allowed to smile.

he nods, quick and short. louis nods back.

he preheats the oven and pulls out a loaf of french bread. zayn taught him this one night. how to make poor ass garlic bread. bread, olive oil, butter and garlic. he does that, and sticks both trays in the oven when it buzzes.

“ten minutes,” he says, glances at the clock.

5:48

he’d set the timer, but.

“i’d set the timer, but…”

harry laughs. a real one. his dimple shows, and louis smiles too.

they’d bought the oven from this secondhand shop when they’d first signed the lease to their little flat. the light hadn’t worked. harry fancied himself a handyman back in the day, so he’d taken a toolbox to it. after, the light worked fine. the timer did not. it’s just always been one of those, “remember that time you…” stories.

harry still laughs at it. it’s the first bit of relief louis’s felt in over a month.

it’s a little bit less tense, after that. harry helps louis clear all his schoolwork to one end of the tiny table. there are at least two things in that pile that he needs done by noon tomorrow. later, he promises himself.

he sets the table slowly. there are a few beers in the fridge, so he offers one to harry. they crack them open and sip on them while they wait.

“i could throw a salad together or something?” harry offers, unsure, while louis checks their dinner. still a bit cold, so he pushes it back in. he nods. even smiles a bit at the lasagna, because salad. of course.

so they do that. pull lettuce apart and dice the half tomato left in the produce drawer. there’s some ceasar dressing that louis hasn’t opened yet, so harry stirs that in while louis cuts the lasagna in uneven squares.

they don’t touch, except for accidental bumps and brushes.

they don’t laugh a lot, they don’t kiss at all, and harry never wraps his arms around louis’s waist and pretends to scold him for dipping his finger in the sauce. but.

it’s a little like it used to be.

louis slides into the chair across from harry, puts the dish down. harry already has salad and bread on both their plates. louis automatically serves harry a piece from the middle of the pan. he glances up at louis, like he’s surprised. like louis wouldn’t remember that harry doesn’t like all the burnt cheese at the edges.

just one of those things louis reckons he won’t ever forget.

they eat in silence, for a while. save the little “please” and “thank you”s of the dinner table, there’s not much to talk about.

only there’s so much to say.

“this is good, lou,” harry compliments.

louis laughs and says, “thanks. it took me all day.”

harry laughs too.

louis just fucking misses that sound so much that he feels like it’s stabbing him in the chest. he bites down on his lip when he feels it quiver; stuffs his mouth full of food to keep it quiet.

“how’s school?” harry asks, and louis looks up as soon as he’s sure his eyes aren’t wet.

“it’s, erm…” he starts, mouth still full. he chews, swallows. harry’s always hated that. “it’s a’right. school. y’know.” he shrugs. harry’s in school too. he knows how school is.

“mmm,” harry agrees, swallowing his own mouth full. “work? still the best waiter in town, i’m sure?”

louis snorts. really, he’s lucky liam’s parents own the grill. he’s fucking terrible.

harry’s never had to work a day in his life. if he were anyone else, louis might’ve thought it patronizing. harry’d never, though. louis knows that. so it slides.

“in all of england,” he corrects, takes another bite, nods. harry just smiles, dimples and all. louis loves him.

when they’re done, harry clears their plates. louis puts the leftovers away and ties up the trash that’s needed taking out for three days.

he runs some hot water to let the dishes soak, and harry adds soap. a little too much, so there’s bubbles everywhere. he scoops up a few and blows them at louis. louis laughs and blows back, and they end up in harry’s stupid quiffed up hair. they both laugh, and spend five minutes batting greasy bubbles back and forth.

it’s disgusting, and louis’s happier than he has been in weeks.

the kitchen’s a mess. louis hates doing dishes. he’s always left them for days. harry’s always hated that.

they do all the dirty dishes. harry washes and louis rinses and dries, then puts them away. they get all wet, and they break two cups because they’re being silly.

louis puts on the kettle just as soon as it’s finished. he hasn’t had a proper cuppa in at least a week. his kettle’s been at the bottom of the dish pile, and his pan collection is not extensive.

he’d resorted to microwaved tea. _microwaved tea._

“i’ll take this out,” harry says, as louis drains the sink. he’s tugging the trashbag out of the bin. louis nods. he wonders why harry’s doing all of this.

the kettle whistles while harry’s outside, so louis takes it off, shuts off the burner. he takes down two cups and adds a splash of milk to one and two sugars to the other. he can’t stand the sweet in the tea, but he learned to let it slide because he liked the sweet on harry’s lips.

his hand shakes and his heart hurts and his eyes finally do well up. he spills milk on the granite counter and it runs down the cabinet door. the tears run down his face.

he shakes his head at himself, sighs, squats down to wipe up the milk on the door and tile.

_it’s your own fucking fault_ he reminds himself.

“lou?” harry asks from the doorway. louis makes a quick swipe under his eyes and stands.

“just spilled some milk,” he explains, back to harry, holds up the carton. he sticks it back in the fridge and turns to face him. “made you a cup, if you want. if not, you can leave it. or take it. i don’t…” he shrugs, then takes a sip of his. a big sip. it burns, but he needs it.

“oh, i can…” harry steps forward to pick his mug up. he eyes the tea skeptically as he brings it to his lips, and that at least is enough to make louis chuckle into his cup. he keeps smiling, because the relief on harry’s face when he tastes the sugar is hilarious. it wouldn’t have been the first time louis would’ve tricked him.

they aren’t like that now, though.

harry must realize that at the same time, because the way their smiles fade in tandem is almost comical.

“so, um…”

“oh, we could just…”

louis squeezes past harry into the living room and switches on the television. there’s nothing on, he can already tell you that. the price he pays for cable, and there’s nothing fucking on it when you’re up at three a.m., too tired to sleep.

harry immediately looks for something to busy himself. it hurts a little to know that harry thinks he needs to have a reason to still be here. louis supposes that now he probably does. it still sucks.

but he watches harry putting loose dvds back in their cases, stacking them up. he alphabetizes his fucking movies. louis used to laugh, but the familiarity of knowing exactly where every single one was was driving him crazy. maybe that’s why they’ve all made a home on the floor under the entertainment center.

he looks back up at the tv while harry starts putting movies back on the shelf. keeps scrolling. click… click… click. nothing worth seeing.

he stops it when he sees something familiar. this stupid show harry likes. louis can’t fucking stand it, but they used to watch it every thursday night. now it makes him ache for that red fleece blanket and harry’s warm arms. makes him desperate for the little chuckles in his ear and the gentle stroke of fingers down his side.

his throat closes up, and his nose stings. he wants to press his face into harry’s shoulder and breathe him in. he wants harry’s body heat around him, the tangle of long legs between his, the tickle of messy hair in his face.

he misses it all so much that his chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

the thing is, _it still fucking hurts_. the way they’d gone from bad to worse. the steady deterioration of something that used to be so strong. he can’t even remember what set it off now. he just remembers how it ended. and it fucking hurts.

the “i don’t think i can do this anymore, louis,” and the, “maybe just… we should give it time.”

he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. behind his eyes, he can see harry walking out. he can literally replay the way he got out of bed, got dressed, left.

didn’t come back.

he can feel the hollowness inside his chest that he felt while he sat there crying, didn’t even try to stop harry. didn’t think he could. didn’t want to look pathetic. didn’t think it’d make a difference anyway.

he’s regretted it every day since. he hasn’t stopped in three fucking weeks. not once.

he can still feel the fucking cold.

he doesn’t even realise what’s happening until harry looks up at him, big hand full of movie cases, goofy grin on his face.

until harry’s whole face falls, and he’s getting up and asking, “lou?”

he sees harry’ lips move through the blurry filter of tears that’s started steady flowing out of his eyes, but no sound reaches his ears.

he knows he looks like a pathetic fucking fool, but it hurts so bad. this incessant missing of something that he thought he’d always have. he took advantage of it, and for a fucking second he questioned it, and now it isn’t his anymore.

now it’s living across town, sleeping in someone else’s bed, sharing someone else’s home.

now it’s eating him from the inside out, because it’s all he wants.

he chokes out a little sob that’s supposed to be harry’s name. harry probably can’t tell that.

he’s right there, though. before louis even realised he had moved. his thumbs are wiping at louis’s eyes, arms wrapping around him, pulling him in. this is what he’s wanted. he presses his face into harry’s neck and cries.

he sobs and coughs and probably gets snot on harry’s stupid t-shirt, but he doesn’t care. harry’s not laughing at him, and that’s all that really matters.

harry takes louis’s mug and sets it down, slips his hand up to cup louis’s jaw, and angles his head to look him in the eye.

“hey, hey,” he coos, soft and sweet, “‘s okay, love. everything’s okay. ‘m right here.” he presses his forehead to louis’s and just looks, watches. “what’s this?” he asks, gentle. that makes louis cry harder, because he knows how awful he looks. he knows how gratifying it must be to watch louis, who never cries, fall apart like this.

he also knows that isn’t true. not with harry.

harry looks hurt, too. he knows what this is. he feels it too. that much, louis is sure of. he knows just as well that everything is not okay. it hasn’t been in a long time.

“i’m sorry,” louis chokes out, hands grabbing at the loose hem of harry’s too-big, too-soft t-shirt.. “i didn’t mean. none of this was… i just.”

it frustrates him that he can’t even piece a sentence together.

harry shushes him, wipes his cheeks again. his hands are gentle, like they’re afraid of breaking louis. louis’s never been particularly breakable. until harry.

harry’s never been capable of breaking anything but louis.

“i know. i know,” harry whispers back. his eyes are closed, and his eyelashes are wet.

“i miss you,” louis breathes out.

harry breathes it in, and kisses him.

it’s quick, just the solid press of lips on lips until harry pulls away.

“i love you.”

louis wipes his face and stretches up on his tiptoes to kiss harry proper, and harry kisses back. he’s gripping louis’s jaw, thumbs stroking over his cheeks, kissing so urgently that louis just holds on. tries to keep up.

“i’m sorry,” louis whispers between kisses, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”

harry just shakes his head. “i love you,” he whispers back, “i love you, i love you.”

it takes a moment for louis to catch on.

“i love you,” he promises, finally. “i do, i love you so much.”

harry backs louis into the side of the couch, kisses him hard, until the corner of it digs into the middle of his back so hard that it hurts.

he needs that.

he curls his fingers into harry’s hair and kisses back.

“i was stupid,” he whispers.

“we were both stupid,” harry assures, and kisses him more.

and that’s...

louis gives in, gives it all up because this is all he’s really wanted all this time anyway. just harry. he doesn’t need any of the rest of it. he just needs this.

harry bumps louis into the side table, and they laugh. louis pushes back, runs harry flat into the wall, stays there a moment to kiss him, nip his lip, catch his hands. their fingers lace together just like they’re supposed to. it’s sickeningly cliche, and it’s perfect.

louis’s bedroom door isn’t hard to find, but it takes them a significant amount of time to find it. they knock over a stack of books and trip over louis’s shoes before they fall into bed. harry bites down too hard on louis’s lip, louis pulls harry’s hair too tight, and they’re laughing into each other’s mouths. louis straddles harry’s hips as his hands grip his shirt, and he pulls it right up and off. he clutches at warm skin, hard muscle, hangs on. harry pulls away.

louis whines, thinks “don’t…”

“i can’t do this,” he breathes out, and louis’s stomach drops.

he sits up a little, fear and desperation in his eyes. harry must see it, because he reaches up to thumb over louis’s cheek, then drops his arm to curl his fingers around louis’s elbow.

“i don’t want to do this before we talk properly, louis,” harry says, eyes all earnest as he stares back. “i don’t want us to just sleep together, then wake up and be on separate pages, like…”

like before. like them trying to fuck out their frustration; trying to fuck away their problems. like louis tryingtryingtrying to make harry look him in the eyes during. like harry just closing them and letting louis take. like that’s all they were doing, by the time everything happened. just fucking to come.

he supposes it was.

louis props an elbow next to harry’s head and leans down just a little, so all they see is each other. “what page are you on, then?” he asks. it worries him now. things are different than they were before, he can feel that.

harry’s hands slide down louis’s sides, resting in the dip of his waist. his thumbs stroke under the material of the thin t-shirt, caressing soft skin.

“i want you,” harry whispers, “i want to make this work, lou.” he closes his eyes and louis sucks in a breath, strokes a finger under one because he can’t handle this again. he needs harry to look at him.

he does.

“i need more though, louis. i need all of you, okay?” his big pretty eyes are all wet. louis wants to dry them because harry should never cry. “i need you to be in this. i did what i did because i thought it would help us, but… then… it felt like rejection. like confirmation of everything i was afraid of. so i thought maybe i just had to let go.”

he pushes his hands up under louis’s shirt and it makes louis shiver a little, the warm pressure against his cold skin. he breathes out, and leans down to touch his forehead to harry’s.

“come back home,” he whispers back, eyes closed and hopes high.

harry stares. louis can feel it. neither of them speak.

so louis opens his eyes, and stares right back.

“i didn’t realise it was getting so bad. maybe i did, but i just… thought…” his eyes are stinging again, welling up, spilling. “i thought it’d fix itself. i thought we’d be fine. and then… you… i was so fucking scared! i thought, how could this work when we can’t even make ourselves work?” he wipes his eyes with his fist and sniffs.

he thinks about the last time they really kissed. the last time they meant it. the last time they had sex and enjoyed it. the last time were completely happy. seems like lifetimes ago.

“you didn’t even try to stop me when i left…” harry whispers, eyebrows all furrowed like he’s confused. fingers catching louis’s tears.

louis watches one land on harry’s cheek. he watches it race one that drips out of the corner of harry’s eye down into his temple.

“you wouldn’t look at me when we had sex. we didn’t even finish harry, you just. you said it. then you got up, and you left me there. i felt really fucking cheap.” he presses his face down into harry’s shoulder, breathes him in, lets the tears come.

harry’s arms tighten around him, settled in the dip of his back, and he feels a nose press against his ear.

“i’m sorry,” harry croaks out, and it breaks louis’s heart. “you’re not, lou, you’re-” he nuzzles his nose right down into louis’s hair, stays right there. “i’m so-”

louis moves, kisses him quick and gentle. shuts him right up.

that settles it.

harry kisses back, lets louis lead, lets him kiss. louis licks at the seam of harry’s mouth, teases his tongue out against harry’s, swallows up his soft little groan, bites down on his lip. harry pulls louis’s shirt off, smoothes his hands down louis’s chest. his fingers graze the dips of louis’s hips, and louis laughs because he’s so ticklish there. harry knows that. does it every time.

it makes louis’s heart swell to ten times its size, because maybe they’ll be okay.

“stay,” he whispers against harry’s lips. “stay here.”

harry nods. louis’s eyes go a little bleary again, so he closes them. harry kisses him again.

his hips buck instinctively when harry’s fingers press into the small of his back. it tickles. it feels good to have harry’s hands back on him.

“missed you,” harry whispers, tucking his fingers into louis’s waistband.

“missed you more,” louis insists, nose pressed into harry’s jaw. he kisses there, down the curve of harry’s throat.

“doubt that,” harry huffs out a little laugh, and louis cuts it off by sucking on his adams apple. he can feel the vibration of the laugh draw out into one of a little moan, and his grin is maybe a bit triumphant.

louis leans into the hands on his back. they’re big and warm. he’s been too cold too long.

“kiss me,” harry whispers. he does. he kisses deep like he means it. he lifts his hips and lets harry’s hands slip under his sweats. lets him grope and he laughs and harry does too, and it feels so good.

he lets harry undress him, and he plays innocent when harry says, “heyyy, these are mine,” to the sweatpants, because yeah, he’s guilty.

“couldn’t let you take it all,” he defends, and harry kisses him harder.

he wrestles harry out of his skin-tight jeans. teases under his breath, “jeggings,” and earns a slap to his arse, which. hey.

that’s his kind of punishment.

they spend a lot of time kissing. a lot of time rolling around between soft flannel sheets and tangling legs, licking into each others’ mouths. harry’s skin is all baby soft, save for the couple days’ worth of stubble just under his chin. louis knows his is the same, only he hasn't shaved in at least a week. harry's hands are big and gentle and just rough enough to get louis’s hips rutting into his own. strong enough to hold him there, fingers long and deft enough to tease between the cheeks of louis’s bum, over his hole, and make him whine.

of course, louis had higher priorities than sex with harry. they’ve mostly all been put in order and crossed off the list though, now.

now he lets himself want this.

it’s been a long time since he’s had it. since he’s felt like harry wanted it.

that’s how he justifies it when he pushes his ass back, whispers, “please…”

he only has to ask once. harry doesn’t need to be talked into it, doesn’t need louis to beg for it like before. he wants it too. louis could cry with how good that feels.

harry rolls them over, pins louis underneath. his body’s long and heavy, a comfortable weight on top of louis. it’s funny how louis can breathe better with harry holding him down.

louis lets his legs fall open for harry, lets harry slip between them, hooks them over his hips. he tangles his fingers in messy hair, tugs it gently. it makes harry’s hips roll down, makes his cock bump against louis’s, makes their breathing come out heavy. he braces one elbow against the mattress above louis’s shoulder, uses the other hand to feel up louis’s thigh.

his lips are as soft as his breath on louis’s jaw, against his neck, in the hollow of his collarbones. louis traces his fingers feather-light down the back of harry’s neck, out over a shoulder blade.

“i love you,” louis whispers. harry doesn’t answer, just smiles. a twitch of his lips against louis’s skin, but he feels it. he hums back, presses his body down against louis’s, rocks against him and makes him moan. it catches their cocks between their stomachs, makes harry have to rock down and louis have to rut up.

it’s a little dry, so louis licks his palm and reaches down, slicks his hand over harry’s cock, thumbs over the slit until he feels the blurt of precome dribbling out over the tip. his does the same, gets them wet enough to ease the discomfort, gets them moving a little quicker.

harry’s panting, and louis doesn’t realise he’s staring so intensely until their eyes meet and he gasps. it’s been long enough since he’s seen that look on harry’s face that now it just. his chest feels tight. his stomach feels tight, too. harry knees up the bed a little until he’s hovering over louis, louis’s legs locked around his waist, so they’re grinding against each other properly.

it makes this excited little laugh bubble out of louis, because they aren’t kids anymore. but it feels like highschool again. feels like harry’s house with his mum downstairs. like trying to keep the bed quiet, trying to keep themselves quiet. it feels hot like it did then, too. new, with the safety of something they’ve known forever.

“i can’t-” harry gasps out, and louis just nods. he knows. he can’t either.

“it’s okay, come on,” he pants right back, lips against harry’s neck. “come on, come harry…”

and he does. groans and lets his hips stutter. louis slides his hand over harry’s mouth and shushes him, little smile on his face, and harry’s eyes squeeze closed tighter. his fingers dig into louis’s thigh. he comes all between them, thick and sticky and warm.

louis follows, comes hard enough that he sees white spots behind his eyes. can’t catch his breath. when he opens his eyes, he’s been biting down on the heel of harry’s hand. it’s silly and they’re both gasping, both grinning, both sticky and disgusting and so fucking happy.

x

later, when they’re all cleaned up, snuggled down into their pillows, wrapped up tight in red fleece and each other’s warmth, louis nuzzles his nose into the nape of harry’s neck. he smells like sweat and apples, a little like louis’s cologne.

he presses his lips there to the top of his spine, and closes his eyes, fairly certain that harry’s already fallen asleep. he’s missed this most. more than anything, he’s missed harry’s warm body against his, and the soft sound of his little snores. he loves this boy more than he loves anything else. he needs harry more than he needs to breathe.

not in the way that he couldn’t live without him… just in the way that he never wants to.

“yes,” he whispers, just a breath against between vertebrae, thumb caressing across harry’s collarbone where their fingers are curled together.

“hmph?” harry grunts, sniffling. louis smiles into soft hair.

“yes. if the offer still stands, that is.” he noses around to harry’s ear, kisses the shell of it. “i’ve thought about it. been thinking about it. i’m not scared anymore. i love you.”

harry’s hands squeeze his, and he turns over slowly. his eyes are open, not even sleepy like before, big and bright.

“are you sure?”

louis nods. he wasn’t before. that was his mistake. maybe it took all of this to show him what he really wanted.

“i’m sure,” he promises, brings a hand up to stroke over harry’s cheek.

harry kisses him, and they both laugh, and that’s how they fall asleep. fingers tangled, foreheads pressed together.

x

louis wakes up the next morning to warm boy wrapped all around him, a mouth full of curly hair, and a soft fluttery feeling in his belly. he kisses harry’s cheekbone, disentangles himself carefully, and slips out of bed.

he takes a piss, brushes his teeth, tries to tame his hair. it’s not until he’s halfway back to bed that he notices the little gold band on the third finger of his left hand. looks just like it did the first time, a little diamond embedded in the middle. he gasps, stops right where he is, and looks back at where harry’s all curled up in bed like a giant toddler.

louis’s chest burns, his stomach feels like it’s full of fireworks. he smiles at his hand for at least two straight minutes before he gets it back together. he pulls on harry’s jumper, the one from last night, and slips out into the hallway.

x

when he wakes harry up, it’s with french toast and strawberries, kisses all over his face. it’s to a clean kitchen and an empty laundry basket and a full closet. it’s to louis trying, giving it his all this time, because they both fucked up the first. it’s to more love than he knows how to communicate.

it’s to home.


End file.
